One More
by MunchMcButtFace
Summary: Hiruma knows he's not what Musashi wants. Still, he tries to stop Musashi from a midnight rendezvous with someone who is.


When he couldn't bear the slow, long thumping of the clock and the silence upstairs any longer, he picked up the phone and tapped the speed dial. He had promised himself he wouldn't, but it looked like tonight was going to be just the latest "just one more one last time" on the string.

It was six beeps before the other end of the line connected. "Hmm? Hello?"

"Hey, Kid." Musashi averted his eyes as if the other man could see the flush on his temples through the phone connection.

"Oh, Musashi… Good evening. What's up?" Kid's husky voice was low in his throat, and the edge of static on the phone only served to make it even softer, slower.

Musashi shrugged. "Hmm… Not much.. So, what are you doing?"

There was a slight pause before Kid replied, with deliberate, clear syllables: "Well, me and Tetsuma just finished up some.. Uh… Stuff…"

He paused. "What are you doing right now?"

"Oh… Nothing… You sound like you're feeling down," Kid observed casually.

"No. Not really. Well, a bit…"

"Mhmm…"

Musashi inhaled shallowly, waiting for the other man to speak again. More than half the time, Kid laughed him off and left it at that. Tonight, more than any other night, the construction boss was pressing on his lucky stars.

"Well…" The other man's voice came even slower through the phone. "If you're feeling blue, you can come chew the fat with us a bit?"

"I'll be there in fifteen," he promised immediately, standing up quickly.

Kid's low, soft chuckle bubbled from the phone speaker. "I live half an hour away."

"I know. See you." Musashi hung up, his cheeks hurting from smiling. He imagined Kid putting down his phone and reclining easily on his and Tetsuma's bed- maybe wearing his neatly-patched pajamas, or maybe already undressed, his chest heaving, and smelling of sex and sweat. Musashi inhaled and exhaled deeply, excitement boiling in his gut and a full feeling in his groin. He fumbled around for his key rings and got up, shuffling out the door and to his truck.

He drove out to the neighborhood, fighting between slowing down for the stray cats that darted about the street, and speeding up towards the distant apartment, where the comfort of his quarterback's arms waited. Out of habit, he flicked the right turn signal on, even though he was the only one on the road.

Or so he thought- at the mouth of the neighborhood, a single vehicle very precisely jutted out into the street, blocking the truck's passage by a centimeter. Musashi grumbled in frustration and got out of his car, ready to heave the offending object into the bushes.

It was only when he approached the motorbike that he saw how oddly it was perched, half on and half off the sidewalk. Musashi wondered how long it took for the rider to angle and shove the bike like that, to make sure it caught the streetlight in the most conspicuous way. There was only one man who'd do something so ridiculous.

He crossed his arms. "What do you want, Hiruma?"

The rider rose up from the shadows of the motorbike, the reflected light soft against his long, slender limbs. Hiruma took off his helmet and shook his blonde spikes back into place. "Old man."

Musashi didn't turn off the engine. His hands still on the steering wheel, he spoke again. "I asked you a question."

There was a silence, as if Hiruma was trying to decide what to say- or rather, as if Hiruma was trying to decide how much to reveal he knew. "None of- Where are you going, old man?"

To the convenience store. To Okinawa. To my cousin's funeral. "None of your business," Musashi decided to tell him.

Hiruma was silent.

"I'm going, Hiruma. Good night-"

"Hey. I need a drink of water."

Musashi sighed. "I'm not falling for this again," he barked as he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back to his truck.

Hiruma crossed his arms. "Why are you going to Kid's dumpster in the middle of the night?" he demanded.

The construction boss froze and turned around. "If anything happens to that guy, I know it's you," he warned harshly, swallowing hard.

"Tch." Hiruma tossed his head, his face impassive.

"Good night, Hiruma." Musashi swung his shoulders away angrily.

"Old man. One more thing."

"What?"

"Why him?" Hiruma asked simply.

Musashi shook his head. How could he explain to Hiruma? Kid doesn't shove me off even when it's hot and humid. He doesn't push me away when I put a hand on his back. He lets me hold him when I ask, as long as I want. He's got a laugh like a cup of hot tea, and big daydreaming eyes like I actually make him happy. "He makes me breakfast," he replied simply, and turned away to walk back to his car.

Hiruma's cackle exploded into the thin night air. "Breakfast? Breakfast? You're just a prostitute for breakfast?"

"There are worse things to fall for," he replied.

The blonde began yipping, his guffawing bubbling up cleanly in the darkness. But there wasn't any amusement in Hiruma's laugh, and Musashi wasn't dare meet the other man's eyes as he got back in the car. So the laughter followed him as he drove away, and Musashi sighed, his heart slow and sluggish. No matter how the years had gone, no matter how many times he walked away, Hiruma in pain was something he could never get used to.


End file.
